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Toasted Cheese

Last night, I dreamt I was at some sort of adventure camp. It was like a summer camp, except the activities were less make-crappy-clay-ashtrays and more climbing-up-walls-made-of-sharks.

I had three roommates and got to sleep in the top bunk, and if I remember correctly, even the cafeteria food was adventurous. I don’t have any examples. …

Good story, Heidi.

Anyway, the main part I remember was in this coliseum-like grand hall. There was a walkway about two stories up that encircled the ground floor, which was carpeted in a sort of wave-pool of molten lava. (Is there any other kind of lava? Do you still call it lava when it’s hardened?)

Yeah, so it was sort of a… spectator’s Mount Doom. And overly-fit and cool people were walking around this walkway like it was nothing at all. They were on their way to the climbing wall, I think.

I was hanging out with a few people I’d just met in the cafeteria (eating unnamed adventurous foods), when I decided to take part in one of the activities one performs in this space, namely to hop over the side and surf the lava.

… Sounds smart, right?

So I climbed over the railing and started lowering myself onto this hovering platform, but some combination of terror and incompetence seized me, and I froze, toes touching the platform, arms hugging the post. I was quite calm, externally, quietly addressing the new friends above me: “Y’know, I don’t think… I don’t think I can do this, and I don’t think I can pull myself over the railing again.” I was shaking, though, and getting really scared.

Suddenly, (and I mean suddenly like in a cartoonish blur of movement), Paul came swooping in from… like… the AIR, and landed, Legolas-style on the platform to my left.

Like this.

I think he was even wearing green tights and a cloak.

Without giving me a moment to think about whether this turn of events was favorable, he pulled me off the railing and onto the platform, which dropped two stories into the lava below. Assuming we’d be killed instantly, I braced for fiery death, but Paul, apparently some kind of master lava-surfer, kept it steady.

Only a teensy bit of the red-hot liquid lapped at the edges of the board and even a little over Paul’s shoe. It was then that I realized his foot should have been vaporized, and I wondered what this stuff actually was… I had ASSUMED it was lava, but apparently not…

As Paul somehow surfed us UP a ramp of whatever-it-was and back onto the walkway, I knew — the way you just know in a dream — that it was not molten lava but rather molten cheese.

Yes.

Molten. Cheese.

It was exceedingly hot, but not so hot that it’d kill instantly, especially with clothing protection.

Paul, having deposited me safely on the walkway, disappeared again into the air.

He was a genuine hero in this dream. I think that’s hilarious. Thanks, Paul.